


Use Your Words (Or Don't)

by RageSeptember



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: 11x03, Cuddling, Horrible (But Now Apparently Canon-Typical) Dirty Talk, Kissing, M/M, Making Up, Missing Scene, References to Misogyny, References to Toxic Masculinity, Shameless (US TV) Spoilers, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:14:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28261479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RageSeptember/pseuds/RageSeptember
Summary: Missing scene from 11x03. How do they go from sniping at each other in the kitchen to enthusiastically banging it out just a little while later? And why on Earth is horrible, horrible dirty talk suddenly a thing?Well, they have this whole conversation where they basically talk things through but, you know, in their Ian and Mickey way of not talking things through but totally talking things through. You know? Also, there are kisses.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 30
Kudos: 206





	Use Your Words (Or Don't)

**Author's Note:**

> Listen, I don't begrudge anyone engaging in bad dirty talk if that's what gets them going, but I didn't really expect it for Ian and Mickey. I guess this is my attempt to wed what we saw in mid-credits scene to my already established perception of the characters. Oh, and I have a kink for understated reconciliation so there was no way in hell I wouldn't jump on this. XD

They walk home from the Alibi together, but six feet apart and in silence.

Dinner is mostly silence, too, the celebration of Carl's first arrest dampened by Lip's outburst and Debbie storming off. Lip and Tami soon excuse themselves; Liam has homework; it's Carl's turn to do the dishes. (That mostly means they won't get done, but at least they'll know whom to blame when there's no clean plates or knives in the morning.)

Mickey's pours himself another glass of Jameson, but pauses when Ian abruptly rises from the table. His husband doesn't spare him a second glance though, but merely puts the half-thawed vegetables back in the freezer and walks off with a half-hearted “night” to his two younger brothers.

_Well, fuck you too._

Mickey can feel Liam's eyes on him, but for once the kid keeps his mouth shut.

Smart kid.

Mickey takes his time emptying the glass. Takes the time to fill it up again and empty it once more too, while pointedly not listening to a single word Carl is saying about the fucking arrest he made.

Then it's getting late and there's nothing for it and he's sick and tired of them not being fine anyway, so fuck it.

He leaves the glass on the table for Carl to tidy away.

In their room Ian's sitting on the bed with his back towards the wall and a book in his lap. He looks up when Mickey enters, but doesn't say anything and promptly turns his attention back to his paperback. His jaw is set, but his shoulders slumped. Angry still, then - but tired even more than angry. Defeated, maybe.

Mickey fucking hates to see it.

He busies himself by the drawers, aimlessly rifling through the socks for something to do with his hands. “So. Quit your job?”

There's a brief pause, as if Ian's trying to determine whether Mickey's trying to start something again, and whether or not to strike first with a snarky reply. In the end he settles for a soft exhalation and, “Yep. Tried to make me to work for free through my lunch break.”

He'd told Mickey as much already, at the Alibi. Hadn't gone so good, so this time Mickey tries for a different response: “Fuck 'em. We'll be fine 'til you find something else. Too good for that fucking place anyway.”

Another pause, long enough that Mickey turns from his fumbling with the socks to look at his husband. Ian's staring down at his book, mouth opening and closing a few times, like he's on the edge of saying something but then thinks better of it.

“Yeah,” he mutters at long last. “Don't know that I am anymore. Bipolar ex-convict in the worst economy in fucking lifetime? Not seeing a lot of options for me here.” Before Mickey has time to think of an appropriate response to that Ian's eyes darts to his face; darts away just as quickly. “Manager called me a little bitch.”

 _Oh._ Okay. Yeah. Fuck.

Moving over to the bed, Mickey sits down on the edge of it. “That manager's a fucking idiot. The hell does he know? That's bullshit.”

Ian lifts his head at that, looking at Mickey with something that might be hope tempered with wary skepticism, and a hint of challenge. “Really?”

Mickey meets his gaze without flinching; holds it for a moment. “Yeah, man. Bet that asshole knew you could break him in half without breaking a sweat, that's why he's spouting stupid fucking stupid shit like that.”

A beat, to let that sink in, and then Mickey allows his lips curl into a grin, pulling his legs up on the bed to crawl over to Ian and crowd him: “'Cause you know you're the toughest motherfucker on the South Side, so big and so strong and so _manly_.” He reaches out to squeeze Ian's left bicep for emphasis.

“You're a dick.” But Ian doesn't pull away and he's starting to smile, as Mickey hoped he would; it's in his eyes first, a softening and a glimmer, and then it's on his lips, growing wider.

Mickey feels his own grin grow wider too, as something in his chest loosens and lets up.

“Yeah?” he asks, eyebrows suggestively raised as he, ignoring the dull protest of his aching ribs, leans in to let his lips brush over Ian's in a not-quite-a-kiss. “Whatcha gonna do about it, huh? Gonna bend me over and pound me so hard I fucking scream? Gonna make me beg for your... your big, fat cock?”

Ian tilts his head to the side, brow furrowed in faux affront. “You calling my dick fat?”

“Think I've got the right to, Tim Kruger, I've choked on it enough times.”

A snort of surprised laughter and then Ian's hand is on the back of his head, pulling him in for a kiss that is hard and hungry and coming home. Mickey shifts to straddle his thighs, their lips never parting, and _fuck_ , it's just been a few days but it's been too fucking long.

It goes on for some time; Ian's arms around him, fingers scratching against his scalp; Mickey's hands running up and down Ian's sides, as they kiss and they kiss and they kiss.

At long last, with a long sigh, Ian pulls back a little, his eyes searching Mickey's as he runs a thumb over his cheek.

“You want me to do that?” he asks after a moment, and there's just the faintest note of uncertainty in his voice.

Mickey doesn't like it. He doesn't want Ian to be uncertain about him, about them, ever. But he bites down on the urge to bristle. Takes a deep breath. “Do what?”

“Bend you over.” A tentative, lopsided smile. “Make you beg”

_Ah._ “Ain't never said no to that shit before, Gallagher.” How the hell is that even a question? Okay, there'd been this morning, kind of, and maybe a few times when they just started fucking and he had  _issues_ and things got a little too intense or whatever, and he's not so much for the actual begging, but  _in general_ , Mickey's never been opposed to Ian getting a little – or a lot –  _decisive_ with him. 

Least not as long as he doesn't make him feel _lesser than_ for liking it that way. 

“Mm.” Ian nods, but he doesn't lean back in to resume the kiss. Instead he reaches out to run his hand over Mickey's thigh, idly, and with a pensive look on his face.

Mickey very, _very_ badly wants to tell him that _now that that's cleared up maybe you could get on with it_ but he's determined not to be (too much of) an asshole tonight; to be patient. He waits, and eventually Ian looks up. The uncertainty has seemingly fled; the look in his green eyes is calm once more, and direct:

“So just to be clear: you're _not_ exclusively a top now?”

“What? _Hell_ no.” Mickey makes a face, genuinely taken aback by the notion, but then he shrugs. “Doesn't mean I'd mind switching it up once in a while, though. We've tried all kinds of new shit after we got married, figured it might be fun to try that too.” He pauses, chewing his lip. “Thought you'd be cool with it.”

Ian smiles, reaching out to give a playful little tug to Mickey's hair. “Give me some warning next time and I will be.” Abruptly, his smile turns devilish. “After all, how could I resist such a _stunning_ embodiment of _pure masculine prowess_?”

Mickey's eyes widen. _Oh._ _Uh-huh._ _All_ _ **right**_ _then._

“I dunno,” he says, pushing hard for feigned thoughfulness even as he pushes his ass down on Ian's groin, wiggling just a little. “Seems like six pack-packing, strong-willed, stoic soldier boy like you could resist just about anything.”

Ian's quiet laugher is cut short by a sharp intake of breath as Mickey leans in to nip at his ear. “Even a – _ah_ – man-swole hardass?”

“Yeah, 'cause you're such a top dog alpha male.“

“Ultra super _power_ bottom.“

“Fierce and ruthless devastator of assholes.”

“Yeah, asshole is right... Ow! Okay, you're going _down_ … you big manly boss man.“

\---

If there is a moment, quite some time later, when they're both happy and spent and relaxing in each other's arms –

If there is a moment, when Ian's eyes stray to the bruises on on Mickey's side, and if he reaches out to let his fingers brush over them in the whisper of a touch, if a shadow passes over his face –

Mickey will catch his hand and bring it up to his lips to press a quick kiss to it.

“Looks worse than it is,” he will say and Ian's lips will twist, in rueful smile or grimace or both:

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Bastard who jumped me hits like a fucking - “ Mickey will break off and make a disgusted face. “Hits like a... a... a fucking weak person. Jesus Christ. Fucking V.”

Ian will chuckle. A bit weakly, perhaps, still a little lost to the lingering memories of the afternoon, but he will chuckle. Will pull Mickey closer to him, carefully; push his nose to his hair and breathe him in. “I love you.”

And Mickey will smile. “Mm. I know. Love you, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Tim Kruger is a gay porn star with a huge dick. I know this because I googled 'gay porn star huge dick'. I have some regrets.


End file.
